


symbolism in cutting hair as symbolism for change. oftentimes, a rebellion.

by tenkaede



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Established Relationship, F/F, Fluff, Haircuts, Intrusive Thoughts, Killing Game Was A Virtual Reality Simulation (Dangan Ronpa), Post-Canon, Trans Chabashira Tenko
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-05
Updated: 2020-06-05
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:01:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24370972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tenkaede/pseuds/tenkaede
Summary: Harukawa wonders, then, how much trust Chabashira in her in order to let her do this. She has memories of using scissors as weapons and cutting through skin, and she has memories of using scissors as tools and cutting through the hair of children at the orphanage. There’s fifty different ways to kill Chabashira with the scissors alone, and fifty more if she utilizes the room. She could get away with it if she needed to, and Akamatsu would never know, and Harukawa can imagine the look of death on Chabashira’s face so clearly because she’s seen it before.Chabashira wants to cut her hair. Harukawa helps.
Relationships: Akamatsu Kaede/Chabashira Tenko/Harukawa Maki, Chabashira Tenko/Harukawa Maki
Comments: 11
Kudos: 68





	symbolism in cutting hair as symbolism for change. oftentimes, a rebellion.

Scissors in hand, Harukawa says, “I thought you liked it long.” 

And Chabashira laughs, sunlight that reaches every corner of the room until the sound dances like music into Harukawa’s ears. Her fingers ghost her bangs, brushing at strands of well-kept hair before her voice fades and idle hands fall into her lap. It’s hard to tell what she’s laughing at. The comment? The way Harukawa had said it - blunt, blank, cold as usual? Just Harukawa? No, she doesn’t laugh at Harukawa. Never has. 

Settled in the chair in front of the mirror, she tilts her head backwards, all wide green eyes and perfect goofy grin that makes Harukawa want to melt. “Oooh, but that’s the thing.” She squirms where she sits, never the one for patience. “Tenko likes a lot of things.” 

Back when she had woken up, Harukawa would not have found this so amusing. It’s almost terrifying, the lack of control that she has when she snorts at the comment, because of course Chabashira likes things. She likes a lot of things. And something warm fills Harukawa’s chest that she should be used to by now, but it takes her by surprise again. 

(Then it follows with guilt. Then it follows with the knowledge that Harukawa doesn’t deserve any of this. She elects to ignore it.) 

“Tenko has been finding it crucial to explore other hobbies and interests and activities,” Chabashira continues, legs swaying. “And Tenko has found that some of the things she thought she liked weren’t actually all that likeable.” There’s a beat between her words, a moment for her to look up again, and decides to stick her tongue out. “Tenko has discovered that a lot of memories of things she liked weren’t true to what she really likes!” 

Harukawa mutters something about not being rude and lightly pokes at Chabashira’s cheek to make her put that tongue away. She only laughs again at the act, all bright and wonderful. Harukawa has to use her free hand to fiddle with her hair as she hides the flush to her cheeks. “You think that your hair is one of those things.” 

Fortunately for her, if Chabashira notices her blush, there’s no comment on it. “Oh, no, Tenko can’t be certain, but it might be important to try. Tenko’s always tried to be proud of her body - it’s important! - and if she finds herself disliking it, hair can always regrow.” Harukawa watches her turn her attention to the mirror in front of them as she adds, voice smaller, “as long as it isn’t too short.” 

“That’s a shame,” Harukawa says, “I… can imagine you pulling off a pixie cut.” It’s only a half-joke. That’s something else she should be used to by now - joking without thinking, but as the words fall from her mouth, she recognizes how stilted it sounds. 

Chabashira has always been an exaggerated person, but her reaction to the comment is larger than she had anticipated. “Maki-san!” One hand rises to gently swipe at Harukawa’s face, and she lets it, letting the girl smack at her cheeks. “Tenko’s serious!” But then something close to discomfort flashes in her eyes. “Tenko doesn’t want hair short enough to look like a boy. Of course, Tenko knows that short hair doesn’t mean being a boy, but--”

“No, I understand.” Harukawa wonders, then, if Chabashira knows how much trust she’s putting in her in order to let her do this. She has memories of using scissors as weapons and cutting through skin, and she has memories of using scissors as tools and cutting through the hair of children at the orphanage. There’s fifty different ways to kill Chabashira with the scissors alone, and fifty more if she utilizes the room. She could get away with it if she needed to, and Akamatsu would never know, and Harukawa can imagine the look of death on Chabashira’s face so clearly because she’s seen it before, face pale, neck slick with blood, salt circle ruined, wooden floor stained red-- “Forget it.” 

“It’s okay. Tenko considers it a compliment if you believe that she would look good with hair that short,” Chabashira says, shrugging. She hasn’t lost her smile. “Maki-san doesn’t have to stop believing that, just ‘cause Tenko doesn’t think she could go through with something like that.” 

“I promise that I won’t cut your hair that short, then.” Harukawa wonders, then, if Chabashira would still love her if she knew all the disgusting thoughts that are running around in the faux-assassin’s awful excuse for a broken mind. She concludes that Chabashira would, because she is nothing if not an idiot that believes in girls too much. 

“Tenko knew that you wouldn’t!” Chabashira chirps, but still, Harukawa can notice the way that the promise makes her relax, shoulders sliding down against the chair. Body language like that is far easier to read than faces, but it’s harder to tell what it means when Chabashira’s voice softens. “Tenko trusts you.” 

And something pulls at Harukawa’s chest, thrashing against her ribs like a starved wolf. And something pulls at Harukawa’s head, telling her that this would be the perfect time to slit the girl’s neck for a mission that will never exist. “How short, then.” And when Chabashira makes a confused hum, she adds, “your hair.” 

“Tenko also trusts Maki-san with that. But,” she says, gesturing with one finger, “nothing above the ears. Or below the shoulders. Tenko believes that’s still too long for what she’s trying to achieve by trying this.” Then, slowly, that finger turns to Harukawa, for no apparent reason. 

“Put that away,” Harukawa says, pushing at her hand. A mistake, clearly. Everything is a competition with this girl - another one of those annoying traits turned endearing. Her retaliation only serves to make the hand sneak around and poke her nose, forcing an amused chuckle from her mouth without permission. “Stop! This is so stupid.” 

“Only ‘cause you lost,” Chabashira tells her, “and Tenko got you.” 

After a momentary pause, Harukawa ignores how even the slightest touch to her nose was enough to send waves of electricity along her face, and pokes Chabashira right back. She gets a squeak, for that, and fights a smile when the girl’s face goes bright red. “If you keep being stupid like that, then I’m leaving. Get Akamatsu to cut your hair.” An empty threat, but when Chabashira’s enthusiasm falters, she adds, “I’m joking. I want to surprise her with this, too,” and awkwardly pats Chabashira’s head with her free hand. 

“Ah, then Tenko will stop getting in your way!” Chabashira nods, balling her hands into fists to lay against her lap. “It would be incredibly awkward if she got home in the middle of this!” And before Harukawa can reply, her face pulls into something like thoughtfulness. Harukawa thinks that’s her thinking face, anyway. She’s seen it enough to know to wait. “Do you think that Kaede-san will like this?” 

It takes a few moments for Harukawa to realize that it’s a genuine question. The, “are you serious?” tumbles from her mouth anyway, with far too much bite than intended. “You could be bald and she’d still love you. That’s the kind of person that she is. So… it’s stupid to worry about that. She’ll think that you’re adorable.” 

She catches the way pink starts to dust Chabashira’s cheek, and she catches the small exhale that falls from her lips. She anticipates some kind of protest, that no, she can’t be adorable, she looks like a demon when she’s nervous, she looks like a furless cat, she looks like a sausage dog. She does not anticipate the small, “and you?” 

“And me?” How is she supposed to answer that? Harukawa was made for hurting and snarling and hissing, so her mouth runs dry at the question as the scrambles for something to say. “I… I think that it’ll be cute. I mean, I can cut it, but I don’t know how to style hair or anything, so…” 

“That’s okay!” 

“But,” Harukawa says, and she thinks that this will always be foreign. Thoughts and feelings were never meant to exist outside of work, and even if she is free, it’s times like this where it still feels like she shouldn’t have a heart. “It’ll look good, in the end. Because it’s you. Or something.” 

Chabashira gives her the most wonderful smile, and Harukawa wants to fall apart. 

Finally, she instructs, “head forward. It’s like you said. We don’t want Akamatsu coming in before we’re done, so I’m going to start cutting it now.” 

Some part of her chest flutters with the foreign feeling of nervousness, and another part of her notes how quickly Chabashira does as asked. Trust, trust, trust. The idea that this girl trusts her so much is something that’s been proven time and time again, but it’s never any less surprising. Her neck is within reach. It would be so, so easy to drop the scissors and reach over and - or use the scissors, make it quick and-- 

She doesn’t need to do that. 

Harukawa swallows the sudden bitterness on her tongue, raises her hands, and begins to cut. 

Chabashira doesn’t speak. The grin on her face does it for her. It’s always something that Harukawa’s liked about her - how easy she is to read, how she deliberately projects all of her emotions onto her body with a kind of self-made freedom, consciously or not. She fills the air with humming and fiddles with her fingers and rocks her legs quickly enough that it makes her body sway but Harukawa doesn’t dare tell her to stop. 

If she stopped humming, then the only sound would be the clicking and shifting of the scissor’s blades. It’s much less preferable. 

As confident as Harukawa is in her abilities, she takes extra caution when cutting Chabashira’s hair. Not too short, she’d wanted. The thought of upsetting her or triggering dysphoria through something like this is one that aches too much, so Harukawa opts to cast it out of her mind and focus on getting this right. 

She only hesitates once, when Chabashira makes a noise of delight from the back of her throat. 

And when she’s done, she realizes that she’s done a very messy job. 

It’s not that it looks horrible. Just  _ messy _ in a way that makes Harukawa wince, because  _ messy _ isn’t something that Chabashira has ever been. Gross at times in an endearing manner, maybe, but not messy. The pile of hair on the floor is messy, but the gorgeous locks on the girl’s head shouldn’t be, so she assesses the situation and moves to fix her mistakes until Chabashira moves away from her.

“Wait,” she says. She sounds awestruck. Harukawa can’t discern why. 

“I’m going to fix it.” The explanation does nothing more than make Chabashira shake her head. “You don’t want me to fix it?” 

“Tenko doesn’t believe there’s anything to be fixed!” Slowly, she runs a hand up her shoulder, then her neck. Where her fingers ghost skin, they bump the edges of Harukawa’s work - hair, cut just below the ears. Rough and a little uneven. Her eyes are wide, but there’s not a single hint of displeasure. She laughs, and it sounds breathless. “This is perfect!” 

Harukawa freezes. Part of her wants to believe that Chabashira is only laughing to make her feel better, and that she’s only grinning to hide disappointment. The bigger part of her knows that a laugh this wonderful can’t be faked. 

She thinks about insisting that she fix it. Instead, she says, “are you sure?” 

“Tenko’s super sure! This memory is something to be treasured, and Maki-san’s haircut is ten out of Tenko!” She scrambles to get up from the seat, whirling around so that Harukawa can see her face without having to look at the mirror. “See? See?” 

She can see. “Careful,” she says, because she can also see the pile of hair. “Don’t step in it.” And she can see Chabashira’s eyes, so full of stars that she could almost be a galaxy. 

Harukawa wonders, then, if Chabashira knows how much she lights up the universe. 

Evidently not. She’s completely oblivious to the thudding in Harukawa’s chest when she sidesteps around the pile on the ground, fussing with her haircut as though it’s the most fantastic thing ever. “Ooh! There’s so much! It looks like a puppy!” 

There’s no need to argue with that. Technically, she’s not wrong. Harukawa half-heartedly kicks it into a pile, muses, “it almost could be,” and only after she’s satisfied with the pile does she notice Chabashira’s stare, soft enough to make Harukawa’s cheeks burn. “... Why are you looking at me like that?” 

“Tenko just wants to thank you. You know, for helping Tenko and stuff!” 

“I didn’t do a good job.” 

“Is it cute?” 

Harukawa doesn’t have to think about the answer to that. “Yes.” 

“Then you did a good job!” There’s another one of those winning smiles, and Chabashira steps forward to tap at her shoulder. “Tenko’s gonna hug you now.” 

First, Harukawa’s heart skips a beat. Then, her face grows warm again. And then, “just be careful of the scissors.” 

Chabashira is absolutely not careful of the scissors in the way that she throws herself forward, wrapping herself around Harukawa so tightly that she almost can’t breathe. She’s warm and safe and she nuzzles into her neck and giggles in a way that shakes both of their bodies. It’s another one of those things that Harukawa should be used to by now, but when Chabashira presses a kiss to her jaw? 

She wants to melt. 

And then Chabashira sways them both on the spot, for a little while. The scissors remain held on the tips of Harukawa’s fingers, a reminder of just how easy it would be to end all of this, right now. Take advantage of the girl’s trust. The only one to blame would be herself, for trusting an assassin so much. 

The only one to blame would be Harukawa, for getting too close in the first place. She stifles the thoughts by bringing up her free hand to run her fingers through Chabashira’s hair, in all of its newfound shortness and imperfections. 

This probably means nothing to Chabashira, and too much to Harukawa (the touch sends sparks down her arms, her spine, her chest--), but she doesn’t move away until the other girl does. Slowly, carefully, but there are still stars in her eyes when she pulls away, and her hand slides over to cup Harukawa’s cheek.

She hums, thoughtfully, and then says, not at all thoughtfully, “you’re very red.” 

“That’s your fault,” Harukawa accuses, voice weaker than intended. “How am I supposed to respond to that? I can’t… just stop, when you’re being so touchy.” But she’d given Chabashira permission. They both know that. 

Chabashira looks like she’s going to say something else. Probably something stupid or silly or both, with that glint in her eyes. 

But the sudden call from Akamatsu out in the living room makes them both startle. Both of them must have missed the sound of the front door opening, which means she’s home, and Chabashira starts to vibrate with what can only be excited or nervous energy. Or both. 

“Go show her,” Harukawa says, and that’s all the prompting the other girl needs to bound out of the room. 

She hears the stomping of Chabashira’s feet against the floor, and she hears the surprise in their girlfriend’s voice. She hears the delight from both of them when Akamatsu begins to loudly praise how cute it is, how the haircut looks adorable, how it looks pretty. A predictable reaction. 

Harukawa hopes that it sates Chabashira’s earlier nerves. 

It takes a few moments to realize that she should probably go and greet Akamatsu, too. She can prepare herself for the inevitable hugs, but she’ll never be able to get used to her smile. It’s just another one of those things Harukawa has never deserved, but has anyway. 

Ah. 

She’s still holding the scissors. 

There’s small pieces of hair on the blades, saved from falling down into the pile that she’ll have to clean up later. Hair. Not blood. There is no blood on her hands, with all of the opportunities that she had, and there is no blood on the blades, with all of the times Chabashira trusted her enough to have her neck exposed. There’s no need for it. 

Carefully, Harukawa sets the scissors down. One day, she’s going to have to open up about how she keeps thinking about assassinating her girlfriends for a fake cult that never existed. Or, knowing the two of them, they’ll figure out that something’s wrong and make her talk anyway.

She swallows her guilt. She walks out of the room. She’ll bury her thoughts and greet the girlfriends she never deserved. She’ll save it for another time and celebrate her work of an imperfect haircut.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this for me but yall can read it too. sick of postgame content that like demonizes maki or smth. she aint the greatest but she aint like. da worst. lol. also postgame tenkaemaki fucks and so does short haired tenko follow me on tumblr @ chabamatsus so that i can talk about the girlzzzzzzz


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